


Making bad decisions into some kind of art form

by Dierbeatrixx



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attractive Grantaire, Badass Éponine, Dancer Enjolras, Dancer Grantaire, Dancer Éponine, Ejolras is a ballet dancer, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, Grantaire Angst, Grantaire and Eponine are coworkers, M/M, New York City, Pining, Pining Grantaire, Set in NYC, Slow Burn, They're all dancers, Éponine is the best sister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dierbeatrixx/pseuds/Dierbeatrixx
Summary: Grantaire and Éponine work as dance teachers at a small dance studio in NYC. Enjolras gets hired as the new ballet teacher. Drama ensues.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Making bad decisions into some kind of art form

Grantaire is exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that settles in your bones and petrifies them. Grantaire wonders if this is how King Polydectes felt after gazing into Medusa’s eyes; the malignant petrification starting from deep inside him and creeping outward. He has been able to keep his spirits up for the past hour, but his last bit of energy flows out of him, clinging to his students as they leave the studio. 

His cumbersome limbs slow his movements as he gathers his things. He decides to forgo changing out of his dance attire, in favor of layering his joggers and sweater over the black leggings and thin shirt. The chill of late September in New York is unforgiving and Grantaire will have to endure it on the walk to his apartment. He promises himself a glass of his best, more expensive scotch as a reward for braving the cold night. He might even beg his roommate, Joly, to cook something so he won’t have to. If he gets his other roommate, Bossuet, to help him he has a better chance of getting a meal, as Joly has a hard time saying no to his boyfriend. 

His plans are slightly derailed when he enters the foyer and sees his best friend, Éponine, trapped behind the reception desk. When she sees him, she lets out a dramatic sigh followed by “I’m dying of boredom.”

“Can I have your CDs when you’re dead?” Grantaire asks, smirking, as he walks to the desk. She throws a stress ball at him, but she’s smiling. 

“Yes, even though you’re rude and insensitive to my suffering,” she teases him. “Except for the Blink-182 albums, Gavroche claimed those already.” Gavroche is Éponine’s younger brother. Although due to their parents being garbage humans, Éponine has been more motherly than sisterly for as long as Grantaire can remember. Éponine doesn’t correct people anymore when they assume the boy with the same hardened eyes and sepia brown complexion is her son. 

Éponine and Grantaire met each other in their middle school Social Studies class. Éponine’s badass attitude and Grantaire’s cynicism brought them together and their interest in dance forged their friendship. Now, they both teach at the dance studio, La Révolution. It helped Grantaire pay bills in school, but considering how few jobs are available to newly graduated art majors, he figures he’ll be working there awhile. Especially since his paintings are not good enough to be sold at the exorbitant prices that allow some artists to be artists full time. So, he’ll work at the studio forever, or marry rich. He enjoys working at the studio, though. He basically grew up there. He and Éponine spent countless afternoons within these walls. He owes a lot to the owner, Fantine, a petite French woman in her sixties. She’s strict and sharp, but kind and understanding. She’s always been there for Grantaire without asking too many questions. Because of all this, Grantaire is unable to say no to her, ever.

At the studio, Grantaire usually teaches the contemporary classes and the Special dance classes, although he has subbed for almost all of the dance styles taught there. His favorite subbing experience was the primary ballet class for 5-6-year-olds because the kids were wild and loud and loved to dance. Their bright eyes and brighter smiles were a huge contrast to when he subbed for Éponine’s Teen Hip Hop class, where the students groaned and gave him attitude and criticized his dancing. When he mentioned their attitudes to Éponine to commend her on her patience, she had just stared at him, confused, and said they never acted like that around her. Grantaire guessed it was because he’s a shit-ton less intimidating than his friend. 

“When’s your shift over?” Grantaire asks.

“I’m closing tonight. So, essentially never.” Éponine dropped her head onto the desk with a thud. “Why’d I say I could cover some reception shifts? I’m so bored. It’s literally torture.” She sighed again and fidgeted a little in the chair, as though she was tired of sitting. Grantaire empathized with her. He also hated sitting still for too long, which was part of the reason he wanted to major in Art. He had thought most of his learning would be done standing in front of an easel with no restrictions on movement. He was really bummed when he got his first schedule and found it full of lectures.

“What’s earning money without a little torture?” Grantaire replied, smirking at his friend, who smiled a little, despite her exasperation. But whatever witty remark Éponine was about to say was interrupted by the ding of the opening door and the accompanying burst of arctic air. 

In a moment, Grantaire forgot how to breathe, as the most beautiful man Grantaire had ever seen walked into the grungy studio. Grantaire could tell he was a ballerina (danseur) from his impeccable posture to the way he seemed to float inside as if his feet never touched the floor. His effortless grace was a tell-tale sign of a ballet dancer, a characteristic that Grantaire never seemed to develop. The man was all untamed golden curls and long limbs. Images of long legs wrapped around his waist or kneeling in front of him, head bobbing, invaded his mind. Grantaire stuffed his hands into his pockets to stop them from wrapping a golden ringlet around each finger like the jewel-encrusted hands of 16th-century french monarchs. The warm tan color of the man’s skin reminded Grantaire of summer and made him forget that winter even existed. Grantaire wondered if he tastes like summer too. When their eyes finally met, Grantaire’s knees buckled, because looking into his eyes was like looking at the sea. They captured the beauty and the mystery of the ocean, along with a little danger. Grantaire would’ve been okay with drowning in them. 

The gorgeous man joined Grantaire at the reception desk. “I’m Enjolras,” said the actual sun god, “I have a meeting with Fantine.” 

“It’s an audition,” Fantine corrected, coming around the corner. Enjolras tensed beside him. Grantaire, feeling brave, stole a glance at the beautiful stranger. He saw the sharp jawline clenched in determination and fierce eyes focused. There was no doubt in Grantaire.s mind that anyone caught in the focused gaze those piercing blue eyes, should be terrified. However, Fantine, standing in Enjolras’s gaze, seemed unaffected by it. In fact, Grantaire glanced at Éponine, who was also unfazed by the presence of the work of art before her. Fuck. “I think it’s fair to see you dance before I decide to hire you,” Fantine continued, impervious to the mental distress afflicting Grantaire. He wondered if they were just being polite by ignoring his freak out, but then he remembered that Éponine is not polite. No weird glances from her meant that he schooled his expression into something neutral. 

Éponine gave him a weird look. “Hmm?” he said, checking back into the present and noticing everyone’s eyes on him. Enjolras’s expression was unreadable.

“Pay attention,” Fantine’s tone is tart, but she can’t hide the fondness written on her face. The kind of fondness that comes from watching someone grow up. Fantine practically raised Grantaire, and he knows that without her severe discipline, he would a much bigger fuck-up than he is now. “I was introducing you to Enjolras, an applicant for the Ballet teacher position.”

“I’m Grantaire, ” he said, tongue heavy in his mouth. 

“Nice to meet you, Grantaire.” Enjolras reached out his hand. Grantaire tentatively grasped his hand. His handshake was firm, with his long, elegant fingers wrapped around Grantaire’s palm. Grantaire pushed down all thoughts regarding what he wished Enjolras’ hand was holding. Definitely his dick. Enjolras gave him another unreadable expression. Grantaire prayed Enjolras could not guess what he was thinking. He clearly needed to get laid. 

“Likewise,” he muttered, pulling his hand back. “Well, I have a bottle of wine calling my name, so I’m gonna head out. Good luck with your audition” said Grantaire, backing slowly towards the exit. “Bye Ép and -”

“Grantaire, where do you think you are going?” Fantine said, with one hand on the studio door handle.

“Home?” 

“Not yet. I require your assistance.”

“But, I -” Graintair began, glancing at his phone for the time.

“If you had time to complain with Éponine, you have time to help a fragile old woman.” Fantine turned and started walking to the first practice room, with Enjolras by her side. Grantaire tried really hard not to stare at his butt. He wasn’t successful.

“Fragile my ass,” muttered Grantaire, but he trudged across the lobby and down the hall after Fantine and Enjolras. He decided to ignore the loud snickering coming from the reception desk.

Once inside the room, outer layers taken off, and ballet slippers put on, Fantine explains that Grantaire will perform the combinations one time for Enjolras, who will then mimic them. Fantine told Grantaire to begin with the tendu combination from his last lesson with her. Grantaire knew that he was a decent dancer and he could hold his own, but as he got into position in front of the mirror, butterflies raged in his stomach. He glanced at Enjolras in the mirror half hoping to find him looking somewhere else. Instead, he met those intense blue eyes, and neither of them looked away until Fantine began the counts.

**Author's Note:**

> HI, so I plan on this being multi-chaptered and have some of it written already, but I really wanted to post this instead of writing an essay. 
> 
> Fantine isn't really the same as the Fantine we know and love. She's based on the og Fantine, but older. Like Fantine if she had lived. Ouch.
> 
> Title is from Rubber Ballz by the Shins. I did alter the meaning of the line slightly to make it more compatible to be a title. The original line is "I've turned making bad decisions into some kind of art form," which reminds me of Grantaire. 
> 
> See any mistakes? Have and criticisms? Let me know. Like Tinkerbell, I need kudos and comments to live.


End file.
